Hero Fall
by Shrapnel893
Summary: Medea has killed her Master, wanting to rid herself of his stupidity. Yet, with every action, there is a consequence. As punishment for her betrayal, she will disappear lest by some miracle she finds another Master in time. And, as she gives into despair, laughing at her fate, comes across a gun-totting woman, and with her, a second chance. Or, so she thinks.
1. Tonic & Gin

**Author's Note: I'm in the process of re-writing the story to include Revy's POV, as well as to incorporate other ideas that I didn't before. Furthermore, hopefully, this re-write will read more as a story than a bunch of random scenes without much explanation as to the why and how.**

* * *

 **I. Tonic and Gin**

Many miles and a sea away from the port city of Roanapur, sitting in some shitty bar in Tokyo's underbelly late at night, Revy took up her drink and downed it down in one gulp. Sliding the pathetically small glass the country of yellow monkeys called a shot toward the bartender and angrily ordering another, she couldn't keep her mind off their latest delivery due to the sorry excuse this place had for alcohol.

"Fuckin' hell," she griped, laying her head on the counter as she eyed her growing collection of shot glasses. They had to go _back_ to that self-entitled, rich prick and his Cirque du Soleli of whores. Reason being, the package they'd delivered last time wasn't the one he needed, he'd said. A mistake, he called it. A priceless piece of fucking trash. One that, if they'd gotten it back, could have sold for probably even more cash to someone else, but no, the fucker said he'd burned it.

All because the sight of it disgusted him.

And, now, he wanted an old piece of cloth that smelled like dogshit and she'd _sooo_ wanted to switch it out with some of Yolanda's underwear. Nobody would've been the wiser—especially their dumbass of a client—then they could've cashed in double, but Dutch had said no.

"Fuckin' Turk. He should just take his C4 and allahu akbar himself up the ass and blow. Save us the trouble."

"Well, there's no use getting upset about it now," Rock said, paying her bill and leaving a little extra. "It's time to go." He got up, tapping his watch. "He's waiting."

"... Fuckin' sorry excuse for a cave nigger..."

"Come on, Revy, cheer up." He put a hand on her shoulder. "He's paying us a lot of money. More than the first. If I know one thing about you,"—he flashed a winning smile—"it's that you never turn down a profit, no matter where it's from. Besides, you still have payments on your Beretta's, right?"

Revy shifted in her seat, no longer feeling the familiar weight from her Customs. Both were back in Roanapur, getting repaired from one skull-crackings too many—and the cost was straight-up robbery. Though, she couldn't complain since Prai was doing the work and not some nobody. The old fuck would never leave 'his babies' in such a shit condition and she was guaranteed them good-as-new soon as they got back. Just one of the many other reasons to leave this rock behind. Again.

She shrugged him off. "Fine," she said, pushing off her stool and already heading for the door, "but if he pulls that shit again he's getting it." Outside, she lit a smoke and waited for Rock to hail a cab, then slumped inside soon as one arrived and leaned her head against the window.

Watching Tokyo fly by, their destination was another ritzy—even by Nip standards—hotel in the heart of that one city she still didn't care to remember the name of. The last one had pissed her off, and just thinking about going to another of its kind that probably going to be even more ridiculous in size and scope sent her anger skyrocketing. It swelled until she felt Rock's gaze and her mood, already a barrel full of laughs, continued to plummet as a result. She knew what he was thinking, what he was going to say, but, if given the chance, even the slightest, she'd get their client right between the fucking eyes. _Bang._ Then she scowled, reminded of the fact that she no longer had her Customs, and sighed.

Now twirling her invisible pistol, she blew on the muzzle and took aim at the corner signs, pedestrians, cars, and whatever other target she could hit, knew she would, and took the shots. A kill every single time.

"That game was rigged, I fuckin' swear," she grumbled, remembering when they'd been here. In this country whose underground was rife with strife and struggle, just like every other shithole governments rarely acknowledged. Gangs, guns, and violence. Her mind went back to that time. If only she could experience that same sense of thrill. Of danger. But, she doubted there were any samurai who could cut bullets in half where they were headed, and, remembering those closing events of that job, there was a bigger reason why she was so out of sorts. More than usual, anyway. While their client was a shitbag and she missed her Customs, this was the main reason why her attitude was down the can. She knew it. Just didn't want to admit it. And as her foot began to tap in rhythm with her shots, she heard Rock clear his throat.

He nudged her. "Revy, you're scaring the driver."

Out the corner of her eye she saw him, tense in the rearview mirror, hunched over his steering wheel, eyes on the road but attention back at her, fearful of what she might do next. She holstered her imaginary weapon. Tallied her headcount as Rock apologized for her behavior, saying she wasn't accustomed to the culture, and didn't know how to properly conduct herself, or something, listening to him speak. Watching his hand motions. That oh-so-Japanese way of gesturing that she was basically retarded and couldn't help it, but then again she didn't fucking know Japanese and, frankly, could care less. Whatever he said, the driver seemed to relax and she was forced to endure the rest of the ride through Tokyo and then the highway in silence, arms crossed and in an even worse mood than before.

Years had passed since their last time visiting Japan, the two of them together, and while there was no doubt in her mind he wasn't going to run away to frolic with his people like some pansy—that drama was over and done with—what was, was the fact that they were here again. Where it all started. And, when they finally came to their desired exit she read the overhead sign and rolled her eyes.

"Welcome to Fuyuki, my ass."

"It's a lot better than Roanapur," Rock said, giving the driver some more directions. "The only disastrous thing to happen here was a gas leak ten years ago. Other than that, there's hardly been any crime, much less any shootouts in the streets and bars or anywhere else."

"Whoop-dee do, it's a fuckin' paradise." She tossed up her hands.

"The local Yakuza group is a relatively peaceful syndicate, compared to the Washimine and Kousa groups. When I asked, Balalaika said they're small time and not worth the trouble of taking over."

"They must be really pathetic."

"She still wants a presence in the area, so, if the opportunity presents itself, she wants for us to open negotiations as her official representatives."

"Didn't even bother sending one of her own guys? Jesus. _Worse_ than pathetic."

"Which means we might get a second job here." He gave her a hard look. "Meaning Hotel Moscow's reputation is on us. If we screw up…"

She laughed him off. "Sis won't do anything. Not over guys like that."

They passed by a long stretch of high rise buildings before coming to their final destination in all its high-class golden bullshittery. As they left the cab she held onto the false hope that maybe, just maybe, the Yakuza in this city had a samurai who can cut bullets in half too. Something, anything more exciting than the pansy they were about to meet. She would even go so far as to wish for it.

And, now being escorted by a bellboy and shuffled into a fancy elevator, en route to the very top floor because rich fucks always wanted to best view—especially those with God Complexes—Revy ground her teeth as it was all she could do to keep from lashing out at the kid even though he'd done jackshit to deserve a busted lip. It was the only way, short of burning the whole fucking place down, to not lose her mind. To stop gnawing at the thought of the man beside her. That friendly, business-like demeanor he always wore on his person. A suit for his conscious to hide the rotten rags underneath. The damage Roanapur had done to him. What it was still doing.

Knowing nothing she could say would ever revert it. Would ever change him back to the way he was before. Before he had first come to realize that he was just another piece of shit like the rest of them. Before he'd finally seen his ivory tower come crashing down, forced to accept his lot in life, the curve-ball it'd thrown his sorry ass, and where he continued to stay. Where he continued to sink and where there were consequences the further down you went. Not that she wanted to change him back to the way he was before that time, but, once she thought that maybe… Maybe she could've been changed by him instead. A long time ago.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened, revealing a lavish abode. The only part of which she cared for was the mini-bar. Setting her eyes on it, Rock fixed his tie, smoothed down his hair, and checked his breath beside her.

"Shall we?"

"I'll be in the back, if you need me," she grumbled, shoving past the bellboy and going straight for the tonic and gin. Not that he would.

Helping herself to a bottle of Brunello she unscrewed the cork with the survival knife in her boot. Pouring a glass, it was dark as her heart and, taking a drink, held a certain spicy kick that set it briefly aflame. Though it still couldn't compare to the Yellow Flag's arsenal, at least it was better than those shitty shots from before, and, hearing Rock and their client greet each other she poured her second glass of what was bound to be a long rest of the night.


	2. Arrival

**II. Arrival**

Bazett Fraga McRemitz breathed in the cool night air of Fuyuki as she left its airport, taking in the sights and sounds of where her latest mission was to be. The city was quiet and relaxed and, to her, almost in a momentary state of hibernation til morning. A welcomed change of pace and environment from the ever constant ebb and flow of the London metropolis—a city that never slept—for sure.

Walking the streets, all but empty, she thought of her mission. The reclamation of the 726th recorded Holy Grail since the days of King Arthur, fictional though he and his knights may be. One given to her by the Association in a small part based upon her combat prowess. A task fit for a dog. They hadn't said such, but it was clear to everyone that something like this was beneath them, and was best left to an Enforcer. The Sealing Designation Enforcers of the Mage's Association. to be precise. Their personal cleanup crew for those magi deemed too dangerous to continue. Tracking and hunting them down like bloodhounds, then securing any research done and their magic crest—what signified them as a magus—or destroying either if necessary.

If told.

Not that she was against the treatment.

Being an Enforcer hadn't been something she wanted to do originally, but after a certain incident involving her family she had chosen to walk down that road, content to be held back by a leash so long as she was given solace and provided with a means to exact her pent-up emotions. Channel it into her fists and beat it out of her system no matter what she had to do. Anything to rid herself of the hurt she felt. The anger at what happened and what she should have done to prevent it, forced to suffer with the reality that things would never go back to the way they were because she hadn't. What her participation in this Holy Grail War might correct. Even if only on a superficial level.

If only to mend her broken heart and so she could finally begin to heal. She had to be strong, for both their sakes.

And, before she knew it, she found herself at the front gate of the local church; the first stop on her mission. Shifting the container slung over her shoulder, she opened it and went inside. Finding who she wanted to see praying before the altar, as customary for a priest, she sat at a pew in the back and waited for him to finish. His name was Kirei Kotomine, the Father of the Fuyuki Church, official overseer of the Holy Grail War, and an old friend.

When he did finally finish, he spoke without turning to look at her. "I see you that you have been chosen."

She waited for him to stand to his feet and turn with Holy Bible in hand. "Only because of your recommendation." One she was truly grateful for, despite the man's nature.

He closed the bible and set it on the podium. "One they were right to heed," he said afterward, hands behind his back and betraying a faint smile.

She got up. "I came here to thank you for the opportunity," she said, pausing to look down at the bruise-like mark that had yet to fully form; her Command Spells that officiated her as a Master, once she was in possession of a Servant.

Normally, affairs on the other side of the world, especially rituals considered to be backwater attempts at reaching what all 'true' magi strived for, the Root, were not within an Enforcer's jurisdiction. Therefore, while the Association had an obligation to send one of their own to participate, it had no reason to send someone such as her. It was only by way of suggestion from her old friend, whom she had served with numerous times during his last days as one of the Church's infamous Executors, that she had been even considered.

And, so… happy… was she to be actually chosen, the least she could do was offer her thanks to the one mainly responsible. That was her reason for coming to the Church when instead she should've been making a mental map of those sights and sounds from earlier, set-up her safehouse, summoning her Servant, and pinpointing the locations of the other Masters. Something she was now ready to do and nearly out the church doors to start when Kirei called to her.

"If it isn't too much trouble, I would like to give you a piece of advice."

She stopped. "That's very generous of you, Kirei," she told him, keeping her tone neutral, "but I believe it would be best if from here on out we don't communicate outside of the designated rules. It might cause problems, and while I'm indebted, I don't require any assistance."

"I insist. You won't be disappointed."

Though he was indeed her friend, it didn't mean she would so easily let down her guard. Wary of his silver-tongue, she didn't respond, but also didn't leave. Not because she wanted to hear what he had to say, but because she felt a presence in the room that wasn't his. One that she hadn't before and cursed herself for not noticing sooner for letting her emotions cloud her better senses.

Kirei continued. "If you would allow, there is a location I believe is perfect for you to set up to summon your Servant, so to speak. It's not far from here."

* * *

It was seemingly harmless, both Kirei's location which he'd described as a sewer line that ran underneath the bridge connecting the city to a more rural area on the other side and the presence she'd felt back at the church.

Neither were a threat to her, she surmised, and now within this sewer line, no longer hearing Kirei's voice or longer feeling that presence, an incantation circle painstakingly inscribed on the floor, Bazett, without fanfare and much to her chagrin for going against her previous words, yet again thanked her old friend for informing her of such a location. Directly below the hustle and bustle of the city above, it was a very well thought area to summon her Servant indeed. Any noise of the summoning would be dispersed not only by the thick concrete walls of sewer line, but also the river nearby. The man was as sharp as ever.

And, Cú Chulainn's earrings in her palm, this was it.

With these two little, seemingly insignificant ornaments she would summon one of the greatest spear-wielders of legend as her Servant and thereby become an official participate in the Fifth Holy Grail War as his Master. To meet Cú Chulainn in the flesh, to speak with him and find out with her own two eyes what such a man was like rather than just reading about his deeds in storybooks—the anticipation was almost enough to kill her.

How different was he from the storybooks? The tragedy that was his story, was it really true? Could she alter it somehow? Save him? Would she be able to?

Her thoughts wandered to the one person other than Kirei she had to thank for making it this far; the reason behind the person she was now.

Holding out the earrings, she knew that without him back then, she never would have been able to stand where she was right now; the wish she was going to grant would never have been realized. She was going to return what he'd given her. When she won the Grail and found him again, she would finally give him a smile equal to his own, and, began.

"Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone. The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg. The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Repeat every five times. Simply, shatter once filled…  
"Hound of Culann, I announce. Your self is under me, my fate is in your sword. In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer.  
"Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world, of the dead. I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world, of the seven heavens clad in three words of power. Arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance, Hound of Culann!"

In a flash of light under cover of smoke, Cú Chulainn himself stood in the center of the incantation circle. Short, youthful, and beardless, his skin was fair and features slender, blue-black hair thick and smooth, grey eyes like the color of dreary rain.

There was no telling what personifications the Grail had chosen to piece together the mythical hero standing before her, thus she would have to go with what she'd read about. His appearance was in line with The Phantom Chariot of Cú Chulainn and Fled Bricrenn, at least. That being the case, if those tales of him were to be believed, she knew that sorrow gripped at his heart and wouldn't let go. His head was no longer filled with a belief in the grandeur and purity of the world from his younger days. Instead, it was clouded in a swirling mist of shame and grief as a man in his early thirties. The weight of his deeds kept him grounded to reality, and his temperament was like a storm cycle, playfully raging around one minute and calm moments later.

A way of life that rang all too true with that of her own.

Regardless, now wasn't the time. Moving away from his face, he wore a fur mantle with partial scraps of leather and metal armor over a tight fitting body suit for a balanced mixture of speed and protection. His spear made from the bone of the sea monster Coinchenn, the infamous barbed spear Gáe Bulg, lay across his shoulder, and it was most likely his Noble Phantasm. She would have to confirm this after they got situated somewhere else.

Putting his earrings back on, she watched the spear-wielder's eyes shift, wary of danger, before relaxing and resting his spear across lean, muscular shoulders. "I am Cú Chulainn, Lancer-class Servant, and I have answered your summons." He flashed a grin. "Lookin' forward to it, Master."

Lancer was one of the three knight classes that a Master had a chance of summoning. They were second only to the Saber-class, which was regarded as the strongest Servant overall. A card she wasn't about to let go to waste.


	3. The Boss's Daughter

**III. The Boss's Daughter**

They were still talking. She was still drinking.

Not the type to check the time, Revy counted the empty bottles arranged like bowling pins and guessed they'd been talking for awhile, unsure if Rock was just spewing bullshit to butter him up or if he had already made the exchange and now they were simply chatting like old pals or what. Glancing over in her stupor, Revy could swear they were locking lips with each other, but then again those could also the two cows she'd seen pass by going at it, and squinted.

About to take a swig from the bottle in her hand the realization slowly hit her that this was actually the last and her only solace and why waste it all now when she could save it for later because fuck the saké those small fry Yakuza were bound to have, That was when she heard Rock tell her he was finished and that they could move on.

"Ah. Fuck it," she grumbled, slurring her words, chugging it and then tossing the empty bottle to shatter against the wall behind the hooded figure in the corner.

The whole night—or morning, she didn't fucking know anymore—the woman had been just standing there and was probably some rich asshole's expensive daughter from Baltics given to their pansy-ass client for the money. Or marriage. Or whatever. And, by the looks of it, the woman didn't want to be here nor did anybody else seem to want her around because they all ignored her and yeah, well, that made two of them.

Rock called her again. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you the first time!" she called back, deliberately knocking over the mini-bar before lumbering away and joining her partner at the elevator.

"Let me help you," he said, taking a hold of her arm as she swayed a bit.

"Lay off," she spat. pushing him aside and going in first. And, as Rock hurried in after her the elevator doors closed, but not before she and bride-to-be's eyes met for the first, and, last, time.

Next stop, the fucking Gandhis of Japan's underworld.

* * *

Revy sniffed, arms crossed as she leaned on the wall outside the building where Rock and the Yakuza had begun their negotiations. He hadn't said it but the look he'd given her on the ride here held all she needed to know: that she wasn't to interfere in any way, shape, or form. She didn't object when he told her to wait outside while he handled everything.

Counting how many stupid Buddha statues were positioned atop the gate of the complex the Yakuza were based in, it wasn't like she had any plans to crash their little party, anyway.

What the fuck was she going to do? Knock over their teasets and stomp all over their gardens? These pansies were a bunch of jokers, not even worth the effort. Maybe she could've punched the old man that'd greeted them at the entrance in the face when she had the chance, but she wasn't the type to punch people for no explicit reason—usually. At least he'd looked like a hard ass, but around here his type seemed to be the exception and not the norm. A dying breed.

Feeling a headache coming on, she cursed and tried to walk it off—'cause what else was she supposed to do, it was better than standing around doing nothing—and stumbled as she did, managing to fall flat on her ass not long after. Looking up at the Buddha statues, she wished she still had her Customs. Then these fat Humpty Dumpties would be scrambled eggs. It would give her something to do, anyway.

And, getting up, why the fuck should she stay here, anyway? Nobody would care if she simply went for a walk to… wherever… and cleared her head a bit, would they? Rock would be fine by himself, after all. No use having her hang around and, thinking of how long it'd take him to wrap up his teaparty, she went out the gates and stepped into the suburb, looking to the left and right before deciding on the left and starting down the sidewalk.

She was at the end of the block and about to turn right when a voice called out to her from behind.

"Hey! Stop! Wait!"

They probably didn't want her wandering around on her own, but she wasn't in the mood to talk, so she kept going and was halfway down the sidewalk when she heard the voice again, getting closer.

"I said wait up!"

She didn't stop.

As she went around another corner, she heard the sound of something—a vespa or a scooter, maybe, who the fuck cared—as it revved to catch up. Whoever it was sure was determined, and, glancing back, the rider was going so fast they flew past her on accident and had to screech to a halt. But, not before swerving to avoid a pole and tumbling into a pile of trash some jackass left out on the side of a wall.

A hand stuck out from the pile and wiggled. "A…" they began to say, probably trying to ask for help because they were buried in the shit, but if they seriously thought she'd go out of her way to pull them out they were wrong. However, they managed to pop their helmeted head out and then their body, gasping for breath. "Ah… Nevermind…"

Was that… English?

The woman removed her helmet, hair a sweaty mess as she brushed herself off and then picked up her vespa. Grinning like a dumbass, she wheeled it over and extended her hand, holding a box.

"You left without this," she said.

"Huh?" Revy scowled. What the fuck was she talking ab… Oh. That's right.

The old man boss's daughter. She'd promised to snag her a piece of cake—or whatever the fuck those little pastries she'd seen inside before having the door promptly shut on her face were. Revy took it, and opening the box, sure enough, it was a piece of cake—and a big one, at that.

"I'm Taiga," the woman said super enthusiastically, hand out again, this time for a handshake. "Taiga Fujimura."

Revy let it hang. So, this was the boss's daughter. Not what she was expecting, but it didn't surprise her either. Well, sorta. The woman hadn't missed a beat and took it upon herself to grab her free hand, shaking it once and then letting go. It only served to make her even more annoyed, and she had half a mind to take the cake and slam her in the face with it, but, in the end, just sighed and took it out the box.

"You got a fork?" she said, taking a seat on the curb.

"Yeah, right... here..." The woman had reached into her jacket pocket. Confusion set itself on her face. She stopped, then patted herself down and had an _aha!_ moment and pulled out a… a squirt gun... She froze. The color in her face drained. "Ah… That's not…"

"Whatever." Revy was already stuffing it in her mouth. And, when she finished it, giving the box back, asked for the gun. The woman handed it over. Revy held the toy up to the moonlight and blinked. Least she thought she could do was piss off cats with it, but there wasn't even any water in it.

"You can have it, if you want." The woman had parked her vespa and was now sitting by her.

"T… thanks…" Revy said, blushing a bit and thinking why the fuck she was, then looking at the woman's smiling face and quickly looking away. Shaking her head again, Revy took a double take. She must be more drunk than she t—"Huh? Gua…!"

Why the fuck was this bitch blushing too?

Wait. Whatever the reason—like she wanted to fucking know! She scooted farther away.

"I'm Taiga," the woman said after an awkward silence, introducing herself again.

"R… Reb… y… I mean, Revy." Goddammit.

"Reby…" the woman repeated, voice trailing off… "That's—"

"Revy."

"What?"

"It's Revy," she mumbled, not meeting her eyes because she didn't want the wrong idea. Fuck that.

"What is?"

"What?" Was this bitch deaf? "My name!"

"What? Your nose? Oh! Do you need a tissue?"

"Hah? N… My name! It's my name, you stupid bitch!"

"I don't have any on me, I'm so sorry!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"You're funny," the woman suddenly said with a laugh.

It was then that a part of her remembered she was drunk. The alcohol had finally caught up with her. Whatever she said came out as gibberish like she was fucking two years old or something and goddammit where was Eda when she need somebody to punch in the face because—"Ah, dammit…" She keeled over.

"Hey, you don't…"

She threw up.

"... Look so good…"

Revy clumsily wiped her mouth, bits of cake and vomit on her sleeve as she sniffed and then sneezed, blowing her nose on it, dirtying it more. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Let me take you back, I can—"

Revy slapped her away. "Fuck off!" But, she was so drunk it sounded more like _'Fsud ouf!'_ and she didn't even try to resist when the woman helped her to her feet and got a spare helmet and put it on her head, then sat her on the back on her bike and made sure she was secured tightly to her, before riding off, back to the complex.

"Hold on, I'll get you some medicine and a warm—"

"Pleuzdwaintiacmobecktheyar." The words tumbled out her mouth before she even realized she'd said them, and she gripped the woman's waist tighter.

"Alright," the woman said wholeheartedly. They passed it up. "Then I know a great place, and with better food that..."

But Revy fell asleep before she could hear anymore.


	4. Discontinued

**DISCONTINUED**

 **I regret to say that I've stopped working on this idea in favor of what I had originally planned, which you can find in the Fate/stay night fanfic section under the time "You Are My King". Or, rather, the prequel to what I had originally planned. I've also begun work on the sequel, which would be this, as the two can be viewed as their own separate stories. Both are part of this bigger idea I have (that I began back in 2013 or so and since then has gone through quite a few changes, though the basis remains the same).**

 **The reason I stopped working on this cross-over is because I found that having Revy and the cast of Black Lagoon in the story really didn't add anything to the overall story I wanted to tell and were, at the end of the day, just me thinking it'd be cool to include them. But, as it turns out, well...**

 **Anyway, below is a re-post of what I had in mind for this cross-over:**

* * *

 **Alright, so here is what I had in mind for Hero Fall involving Rock and Revy.**

 **Basically, as established in the first chapter, Rock and Revy are in Japan days before the Holy Grail War because they are delivering a catalyst to Medea's Master, who I heavily based off Atrum Galliasta from Ufotable's UBW adaptation and, on the side, since they're there and might as well, to enter negotiations with the local Yakuza group for Balalaika (who obtained the catalyst for them, paid their way from Roanapur to Japan, etc.). Rock at this point (as it's several years after the main events in Black Lagoon) is more deeply embedded with his darker side (as seen in Roberta's Blood Trail) and Revy is, well, more loathsome (read: lonely) because of it. She's cynical, racist, and prone to drinking and fits of violence—more-so than before—and, I had planned, to have her retreat further and further into her shell as the story went on.**

 **Hm. Anyway, after she winds up as the Master of Caster and after they battle Lancer (who at this point is under Kotomine's Command Spell), which leaves Revy injured and unable to do much, she reluctantly decides to bring Rock in, and from there it just goes downhill. Rock sees the Holy Grail War as an opportunity to change the fate of Roanapur, as Chang says his actions would in Roberta's Blood Trail but ultimately didn't go the way he wanted them too. This is his second, big chance, so to speak.**

 **Since I was mainly going to follow Heaven's Feel in terms of how the 5th War pans out, let's just say with Rock being a player things get even worse. Plus there are other things that would've been revealed in Ayako and Bazett's storylines which pave the way for Minds of Steel, which is set immediately after.**

 **In Minds of Steel, the city of Roanapur is where the characters go to find a certain red-haired puppeteer. Also there's a Canaan cameo (Bazett, upset about her arm-which Kirei cut off in Hero Fall-wanders into the Yellow Flag and has a chat with another one armed patron. Yes, it's Alphard.). Among other things (like Caren playing video games with Lotton, Sawyer, and Shenhua or Lancer and Bazett working for Balalaika).**

* * *

 **Again, if anyone's interested in the story still, and doesn't mind that Revy and Co., look out for You Are My King and the new (or should I say, old)** **version** **of Hero Fall, which'll be under the same name. Oh, and if you see that the author is different, don't worry about it. A friend is hosting them for me.**


End file.
